


From Time to Eternity

by melodycanta



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Anger, Angst, Character Death, Denial, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-21 17:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melodycanta/pseuds/melodycanta
Summary: "For death is no more than a turning of us from time to eternity." -- William PennTokiya's father dies before they reconcile, and Tokiya must learn to move on without a person who was ever really part of his life to begin with.





	1. Denial

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea and I told myself I wasn't going to write it (to the point where I literally tried to give it to anyone who would take it). Then I wrote it and told myself I wasn't going to post it. And now look where we are.
> 
> Just a quick heads up that this isn't going to be the cute hurt/comfort story; there's going to be a lot of angst in this one. It'll be dark. And I won't promise quick updates, but it'll get done.
> 
> Next chapter will start Tokiya's point of view, but he wasn't exactly in the mood to have a point of view for this one.

It’s supposed to be a solitary night. Ren and Tokiya have been working together, and they’re wrapping up a TV placement, which means they’ll go out for drinks afterwards. Otoya has been invited, of course, but he might as well take some time alone to unwind. He and Syo have been modeling activewear, which requires a lot of bizarre posing, and he’s still weirdly sore from it all. So much for thinking he’s flexible, he chuckles to himself. 

Tokiya will be home later, probably at least tipsy because he’s the most lightweight drinker Otoya knows. He very rarely gets fully drunk (the control freak in him can’t handle it, Otoya thinks), but a couple of drinks will make him giggly and flushed. He teases Otoya more than anything during these times, but the low chuckle that resonates deep in his throat is such a warm sound that Otoya will take a bit of humiliation to hear it over and over again. That’s not mentioning, of course, the playful kisses or the pleading stares he’ll fix Otoya with as he wordlessly asks for affection. It’s like dealing with a child sometimes, as he’ll lay his head in Otoya’s lap and pout at him until he gets his hair pet. 

Otoya loves those moments more than he can express.

He heats up some leftover shogayaki and defrosts a package of rice in the microwave, humming to himself as he waits for them to finish. He could have picked up some instant curry rice or something from a convenience store on his way home, but Tokiya is good at packaging him up dinner on nights that he knows he’s going to be gone, probably as a way to make sure Otoya eats some sort of vegetable that isn’t drowned in curry sauce. He snacks on the spinach ohitashi as he waits and replies back to a text from Masato about how quiet the apartment is without their respective roommates. It is quiet, but not in a bad way. It’s not the cloying silence that happens whenever Tokiya is gone on a work trip for several days, or the heavy one that permeates every corner when they fight with each other. This is light; there’s a promise behind it to return home soon.

He catches up on the soccer scores as he eats, his nose wrinkling as he sees that FC Tokyo has lost to Kawasaki _again_. They’re not having a good season. He watches the highlights from the game and texts Syo complaints (Nagoya has managed to lose to Shimizu S-Pulse too, so they’re both wallowing in their teams’ losses tonight). 

He’s finally sat down with his guitar and a notebook, intending to compose a song, when someone knocks on the door. Calling it a knock might have been generous; it sounds panicked, palm slamming down on the wood, and when Otoya opens it, he’s not expecting to see Ren standing there.

“What—?” is all Otoya manages to get out before Ren steps to the side and reveals Tokiya, who on first glance, seems to be fine. He’s not smiling, but that’s not particularly concerning until Otoya realizes that his eyes don’t seem to really be _there_. He stares at Otoya, but it’s like he’s staring through him, and there’s the little notch in his jaw that happens when he’s clenching his teeth. Otoya knows this expression from when they fight with each other; this is the face Tokiya makes when Otoya goes too far, when he’s emotionally compromised and trying to keep himself from saying something he doesn’t mean. 

“I don’t know what happened,” Ren says, and it all comes out in a rush. “He got a phone call, and got up to take it, and never came back. I found him in the bathroom, staring at the mirror, just like this.”

Otoya has absolutely no idea what that phone call might have been about—something relating to HAYATO is his first guess, since that usually throws Tokiya so far off his game that he struggles to return—but it doesn’t really matter. Tokiya will tell him, once he’s calmed down a little bit. The more Otoya looks, the more Tokiya’s stress is apparent; his lips are now pressed together into a thin line, and his shoulders are hunched. He’s standing so still that it’s like he’s trying to be a statue.

“Tokiya,” he says quietly. He gently lays his hands on Tokiya’s shoulders, reassured when he doesn’t flinch away. That’s a good sign, he thinks, unless Tokiya’s so overwhelmed he can’t do anything against it. “Tokiya, _breathe_.”

On command, Tokiya gives a shuddering exhale, and that seems like the last shreds of his control, because the second his lungs are vacant, he wraps his arms around himself and starts _sobbing_. It’s like watching a guitar string snap, and Otoya’s heart rises in his throat because he’s never seen Tokiya like this. They’ve fought, and he’s seen Tokiya cry before, but these are heartwrenching sobs, dragging whimpers out of him as he fights to cry and breathe at the same time. Otoya moves on instinct, unable to do anything but pull him close and try to comfort him. 

Ren helps him pull Tokiya inside, and the movement has Tokiya come back to himself only a little, because now he’s clutching to Otoya so hard that it hurts. His fingers dig into the expanse of his back, but Otoya doesn’t say anything because he knows that no matter what’s going on, Tokiya is hurting worse than he is right now. It hurts to see Tokiya like this, and it’s scary. Tokiya is the most composed person that Otoya knows. For whatever to have happened be so bad that he’s lost all of his inhibitions . . . Otoya swallows back his fear and just runs his fingers through Tokiya’s hair as they collapse on the couch.

“I’m going to make some tea,” Ren says quietly, as if anything above that hushed voice might break Tokiya even further. Otoya feels a rush of gratitude towards him.

“It’s okay,” he dares to whisper to Tokiya after a few minutes of rocking him back and forth. “I’m here.” He has no idea if these words actually help; without knowing the root cause, he can’t say anything worth saying. He just doesn’t want Tokiya to think he’s alone in this, because he’s not. 

Tokiya’s sobs don’t slow.

Otoya can’t think of a time he’s felt this helpless before.

By the time that the shudders start leaving Tokiya’s body, Otoya has worked his fingers through most of the hair gel in Tokiya’s hair, leaving it feathery. Ren had returned with the likely now-lukewarm tea ages ago, sitting on Tokiya’s other side to rub his upper back while Otoya’s other hand worked at his lower. Otoya’s sweatshirt is completely soaked through with tears where Tokiya’s face has been resting, and it sticks to his neck uncomfortably when Tokiya raises his head. He looks like a mess, with his hair mussed and his eyes red and his face puffy and Otoya feels the urge to pull him closer again and never let go. “Sorry,” Tokiya mutters, still sniffling.

Otoya bats the hand that’s raised to wipe away his tears and does it himself. Tokiya’s lower lip is still trembling, and he bites it hard enough that Otoya expects it to draw blood. “What happened?” Otoya asks. 

Anger and pain and a flurry of negative emotions crosses Tokiya’s face. He pulls away and readjusts himself so that he’s sitting forward on the couch. Ren’s hand doesn’t stop rubbing at his back, and Otoya tries not to feel rejected, even as Tokiya leans forward with his head in his hands. “It’s nothing,” he finally says with a breathy sigh. “It’s stupid.”

Anything that has Tokiya _this_ worked up is not stupid, and he almost argues so, but Ren shakes his head in warning, and Otoya realizes he’s right. Tokiya will tell them when he’s ready. That doesn’t stop the ache from settling into his chest, and he rests his forehead against Tokiya’s shoulder to hide his expression, in case Tokiya happens to look up. “We’re here,” he says through a tight throat.

One of Tokiya’s hands tangles with his, and he gets a squeeze in acknowledgement. “I think I need some time alone,” he says afterwards through, and Otoya can’t help the rush of acid that enters his throat at the idea of Tokiya crying on his own. 

He pushes it back down, instead lifting his head to nod and paste on a shaky smile. “Okay. We’re here if you need anything.”

Tokiya hesitates, just for a moment, and then squeezes his hand again. “Alright.”

When Otoya hears the bedroom door close behind him, his throat constricts so much that he thinks he might cry for a second. Ren’s face is drawn with worry too. “It’ll be okay,” the blonde tells him. “Just give him some time. He’s not gonna hurt himself.”

Otoya isn’t afraid of him hurting himself. Otoya is afraid of him hurting, full stop. 

Ren pushes the cup of tea into his hands, and he takes a sip and makes a face. “It’s gone cold,” he says through the lump in his throat.

Ren snorts, although the sound is shaky. “I’ll go make a new pot,” he says, and the fact that he doesn’t complain about what happened to the first is enough to tell Otoya just how worried he really is.

Otoya looks at his hands and prays that whatever has devastated Tokiya so much will be swift and temporary.


	2. Anger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Suppressed grief suffocates, it rages within the breast and is forced to multiply its strength." -- Ovid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still not quite happy where this chapter ends, but it's finished and it leaves me in a decent spot. Besides, when your wife says she wants content, you don't leave her wanting.
> 
> Quick reminder that this is not a happy story and there are some pretty ugly emotions in this chapter. I've tried to balance it out a little bit so that it's not all dark and angst, but Tokiya's not in a good place right now.

Tokiya closes his eyes and the next time he opens them again, light is streaming through the window in their bedroom. He’s alone in bed, and he feels _awful_. His face feels dry, his jaw aches like his mouth is too small for how many teeth he has, and he has to touch his forehead to make sure there’s not a lump there because it aches as if he had spent all night slamming it against the wall. 

And then he remembers the phone call. He lets his head fall back onto the mattress and regrets it when another lance of pain stabs behind his eyelids.

He almost didn’t pick up when his mother called; it wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk to her, but they were celebrating a successful TV role and it hardly seemed like the time to interrupt. But, Ren had insisted that he take it, so he’d been standing in the bathroom of a bar when she told him.

“Your father died. I didn’t want you to find out from the news.”

It was a car accident involving a drunk driver who was going the wrong way on the freeway. They’d collided at high speeds. According to the paramedic his mother had spoken to, he had died instantly.

The first thing Tokiya felt was apathy. The man had abandoned them almost fifteen years before; what did he care? Tokiya didn’t know what he looked like now, or if he had a new family, or even if he was still living in Fukuoka. He’d had no contact with the man minus one phone call to his old cell phone number after he’d stopped being HAYATO, and they hadn’t even spoken; the number had already been disconnected. Even if he reached out, Tokiya wouldn’t accept it—

And that was when it had hit.

Fifteen years of birthdays where he’d wondered in the back of his mind if this would be the year he’d get a card. Fifteen years of Christmases where he thought about what he’d do if his father called, as if he were expecting him to. In the back of Tokiya’s mind, there was always the possibility: what if now was the moment? What if something had happened that made his father think of his son again? What if he’d finally apologize for everything he’d missed? And Tokiya’s reaction to such an idea had always ranged from forgiveness to anger and retribution, but the fantasies in his head were always the same: someday, his father would regret leaving. Someday, he’d repent, and Tokiya would be there as the judge and jury as to whether or not he actually meant his apologies. 

It had been fifteen _fucking_ years, and Tokiya still hadn’t lost that hope.

Stomach acid had flooded Tokiya’s mouth then, and he spat it into the sink, hunching over as he struggled to breathe. His heart felt like it was beating so hard he could feel it up his neck; panic squeezed his lungs and strangled his threat. There was a sharp pain in his chest, and for a moment, he wondered if he was having a heart attack.

He’d waited for fifteen years for an apology from his father that he’d now never get because the man had been killed in a car accident. 

A sob rose up in his throat, and he tamped down on it, trying not to follow his mind down this rabbit hole it was determined to take him on. He didn’t want to think about how he’d dreamed about that apology, how, in his mind, everything he’d accomplished had made him wonder what his father had thought about it. 

He didn’t want to think about the fact that, in his father’s mind, Tokiya was just the obstacle to happiness that he’d had to escape from.

He knew he needed to do something—to talk to someone, Ren, maybe even call Otoya—but his mind was focused on that one thing, and so he’d stood there, clenching his teeth against the thoughts he didn’t want to think about but were there already.

He takes a deep breath and tries to figure out what is happening now. Everything after staring into that mirror is a blur in his memory. He’d probably had some sort of mental breakdown, and he’d obviously made it home if he was in bed, although he is laying in the center of it, way too far down to have started on the pillow. A blanket is draped over him; Tokiya recognizes it as Otoya’s favorite spare blanket, the fleece-lined one that he and Reiji had bought Tokiya when they were all living together and Tokiya had complained of it always being cold. 

Tokiya can’t imagine he’d covered himself up with it, considering he’s lying on a perfectly good set of sheets, so it was likely Otoya. But why Otoya isn’t in bed with him is still a mystery.

He raises his head and rolls up to standing, ignoring how his head swims. There is a tall glass of water and some ibuprofen on the endtable on Tokiya’s side of the bed, which he can only imagine are also there for him, and he consumes both in the hopes that it will eliminate some of the brain fog.

It doesn’t.

There is a heaviness in his chest that makes it hard to breathe. It’s like the air around him has turned to sludge, slowly smothering him. He must be getting sick. Maybe this is just the side-effects of some seasonal illness that he’ll get over in a few days, and he’ll be feeling right as rain.

He makes a quick stop in the bathroom to wash his face, because the dry feeling has to have been the leftover salt from his tears and he is honestly sick of it already. Whatever tears he cried the night before were inconsequential and unneeded. His father doesn’t deserve any of them, and he feels irritation at his own condition. How could he be upset about a man who hadn’t been in his life for the last fifteen years? What does it affect Tokiya now?

He isn’t sure, but it obviously does affect him. He scrubs at his face harder, feeling the burn of his own fingernails against the skin. He’s being stupid. There is no reason he should be so sentimental towards the death of a father who had stopped being his father when he was ten. 

With that thought on his mind, he resolves to go about his day as normal, or at least as normal as he can. He is immediately stopped by the scene that greets him on the other side of the bedroom door, however. The television is on, although at such a low volume that it’s obvious no one had been watching it. Ren is sprawled out on the couch, his head buried into the throw pillow against the morning light. Otoya is in the chair, curled up against one side. Both are asleep, dark circles under their eyes; neither stir at the sound he makes as he enters the room.

A ripple of anger tears through him, again aimed at his father. How _dare_ he make them worry (and worry they had, because Tokiya recognizes the way Otoya’s hand rests at his cross necklace, which he only does when he’s worried)? How _dare_ he burden them, when he has burdened Tokiya for the last fifteen years already? It makes him want to scream, but he tamps it down to lean over Otoya, brushing his hair away from his face with the lightest of touches. 

Usually, that wouldn’t bother the redhead in the slightest; Tokiya has the habit of running his fingers through Otoya’s hair if he gets a chance to read in the early morning, and that only ever elicits a contented hum, if anything. Otoya’s eyes flutter open now though, tired and disoriented. “Tokiya?” he garbles.

“You should go to bed.” He traces down the line of Otoya’s cheek with his thumb, trying to keep him calm enough so that he’ll still be able to sleep. 

The sudden panic that rises in the back of Otoya’s eyes though dashes that idea. “I’m okay,” he says quickly. His hand clutches at Tokiya’s, trapping it against his cheek. “Are _you_ okay?”

Tokiya decides he doesn’t like that look of anxiety and fear. “I’m fine,” he says through the lump that has risen in his throat. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

The hand that isn’t clasping Tokiya’s rubs at his eyes. “What happened?”

Tokiya shifts, and the light falls across Otoya’s face, revealing dried tear tracks. They shine, a matte luster against tanned skin, and Tokiya’s resolve immediately weakens. It would be so much easier to just say that nothing happened, but even on the off chance that Otoya does accept that lie, he deserves to know the truth. Tokiya sinks to his knees in front of the chair and rests his head on Otoya’s lap for . . . not comfort, he corrects himself, because there’s nothing to need comforted over. Otoya twines their fingers together and lowers their hands.

“My father died,” he says simply. 

Otoya inhales sharply. 

“It doesn’t matter. I didn’t really know him anyways. I’m okay.”

“Even so . . .”

“I really am okay.”

The fingers on Otoya’s free hand rub little circles into the back of his neck, loosening up the tense muscles. It feels nice after a night of sleeping without a pillow. “Tokiya . . .”

Otoya doesn’t believe him, but that’s not really surprising, considering how scared he probably was. That’s okay though, Tokiya thinks, because he can always convince him through his actions. He should get up and make breakfast now, at least in apology, but he’s comfortable here. It’s like all of the energy has drained out of his body and this is where he’ll sleep for the next hundred years. This is where he _wants_ to sleep for the next hundred years.

Otoya’s neck massage must put him to sleep, because when he comes back to himself, Ren is awake and handing Otoya a cup of tea. “You’re awake,” he says to Tokiya in surprise. 

“Have I been out long?” His neck might feel better, but his lower back absolutely does not, and it aches as he raises his head. 

“Just a couple hours.” Otoya smiles down at him. He looks like he hasn’t slept at all.

“I’ll get you a cup, unless you’d prefer coffee?” Ren asks.

He’d prefer a shot of vodka right about now, but he figures that would be alarming to say out loud. “Coffee would be good,” he agrees. “Thanks.” 

“You got it.” Ren nods and disappears back into the kitchen.

Otoya stretches out his legs, which Tokiya belatedly realizes have been held captive for the last few hours. “Sorry,” he says guiltily.

“Now I know how your arm always feels when I sleep on it,” Otoya jokes.

Ren returns back with the coffee a moment later, handing it to him and helping him to his feet so that he can hobble over to the couch. Otoya’s legs might be asleep, but Tokiya’s aren’t much better after kneeling in front of that chair for so long. He stretches his legs out once he’s seated and inhales the steam from his coffee. 

And then he gets a glance at the clock and the panic starts up again. “It’s ten!?” he asks, trying to get to his feet. They are so late for work, and he has two shoots scheduled for today. He’ll probably miss the first, but he might be able to make the second if he really rushes.

“Sit down,” Ren says. “We’re off work today.”

“Since when?!”

“Since this morning,” Otoya says quietly. He’s standing, stretching his legs out. “You needed the sleep.”

Tokiya glances back and forth between the two of them incredulously. If anything, he needs to work and keep to his normal schedule. “And now I’m awake and can work.”

Ren and Otoya exchange a long glance. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Ren says. “Even if you’re okay, you could use a day off.”

“I don’t need a day off.” Tokiya grinds his teeth. “I am fine.”

“Yeah, you sound it.”

“Tokiya,” Otoya interjects before Tokiya can bite back at Ren for that sarcastic remark, “it’s okay. If you really don’t need the day off, we can spend it another way. We can go see a movie or go out to lunch. You know, normal stuff.”

There’s a quick moment of irritation that flares up again before he realizes that this might be the better way to spend it. Otoya is excellent at being distracting; with some of his patented enthusiasm, Tokiya will be right as rain in no time. “I get to choose?” he asks.

Some of the warmth returns to Otoya’s smile. “Sure!”

“I’ll think about it then.”

“We have time to drink up then, if Icchi is trying to decide anything,” Ren snorts, settling back into the couch. He grabs the TV remote and turns the volume back up. 

“Who says you’re invited?” Tokiya asks, but grabs his own coffee.

“I just slept on your couch—which is _not_ comfortable, in case you were wondering. I deserve some pampering.”

“You have Hijirikawa for that.”

Otoya shushes them suddenly, pointing at the TV, where Quartet Night is waving to the cameras and the crowd. They have a live tonight, but just as they taught STARISH, they mingle with the crowds. It’s always incredible to watch Reiji in his element; he has a natural draw, and even the camera seems to want to watch his every move.

“Ran-chan seems like a different person up there. Maybe it’s just because he’s not shouting . . .” Ren muses.

Tokiya snorts.

_“And now, onto national news. Chugoku Expressway experienced delays last night due to a head-on collision in the northbound lanes. The names of the seventeen victims have been released to the media as of this morning.”_

Nothing could have prepared Tokiya for the kick in the stomach that he feels at the seventeen faces on the screen. It’s all seventeen, he tries to tell himself as his brain scrambles. It’s not the identical eyes staring back at him. It’s not the familiar slope of the jaw or the dark hair that has more streaks of grey in it than he remembers.

All of the air vacates his lungs. 

He is vaguely aware, somewhere in the back of his mind, that his hands are shaking so badly that he’s slopping coffee all over himself and the couch cushions. The forefront of his mind is all just static, so loud that he can’t focus on anything other than that and his heartbeat thundering in his ears. 

He is _not_ fine. It hurts so much he can’t breathe, pain radiating in his chest like he’s been stabbed. He shouldn’t feel like this. He shouldn’t hurt, not like this, and he wants to scream, but the sound is stuck in his throat. It’s white hot and agonizing and he just feels so _raw_.

“Tokiya!” Otoya’s callused fingers are cradling his jaw, and the cup is out of his hands. This is all anger, he wants to tell himself as Otoya pulls him in close. It’s all leftover anger, all of it just vacating his body at once so that when it’s over, he’ll be back to normal, but he knows that it’s not. He’s felt this once before, when it became apparent that his father wasn’t coming back, and that hurts, it all hurts so badly that he can’t do anything other than tremble and hold onto Otoya like he’s the only thing keeping him afloat. “It’s okay, just let it out.”

Tokiya wishes he could.


End file.
